by C. C. Wiley
“You may call me Gilbert,” the little one offered. “That one driving the team goes by Cook. What are you called?”
A vision of patience, the child waited, silently playing with a ringlet that escaped his oversize cap. Unable to tear her eyes from the constant twirling, Terrwyn realized she never thought she might have need of a name once inside the army of men. Her tongue caught on the first name that came to mind. Besides, Simon and the wagon driver had used it without thinking anything of it. Perhaps it would help to keep her in disguise.
“Archer,” she stated simply. “I go by Archer.”
Gilbert took a bite from an oatcake then offered it to Terrwyn. “Would you like some?”
Terrwyn hesitated, hating to take food out of the small one’s mouth. It would be like taking it from her sisters.
Gilbert frowned, the hurt written on his thin, smooth face. “’Tis all right. You needn’t worry. Didn’t filch it. Cook said to eat as much as my wee body can hold. He vows it won’t be a burden on our supplies.
Terrwyn’s stomach growled, reminding her how long it had been since she had her last morsel. His eyes sparkling, he handed her the cake. His smile flashed as he fished out another for himself.
“Where are we going?” Terrwyn asked around a mouthful.
“We head east. To England. Then to Southampton. S’posed to have ships big as mountains, waiting to sail for France.” His excitement overflowing, Gilbert clapped his hands with glee. Leaning close, he motioned to tell her a secret of utmost importance. “Archer, my mother said to look for Offa’s Dike. Once we cross over its border, I am almost home.”
“Where is your mam now? Does she not travel with you?”
Gilbert sat back. A frown creased his brow. Terrwyn thought she saw a cloud of pain mar his moss-green eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Anger thundered back at her. “She’s not here.”
The boy turned abruptly. He smoothed a spot to rest his head and lay down. Left with only the view of his back, she should be relieved she had a respite from his close scrutiny. Yet she felt the need to draw him into her lap and tell him the same stories she told her sisters.
Familiar with her own close walk with deception, Terrwyn knew it when she smelled it on another. The little one did more than hide his tears. She would make certain she remained close by until he reached his home across the border. She could not understand how a mother might leave her child with strangers. If he were her son, she would fight to stay by his side.
Thoughts of Drem filtered in. He was older than this child, yet she could not help wondering how frightened he must have been on his first days with the English.
Her lids heavy, seduced by the rhythmic sway of the wagon, Terrwyn was nearly asleep when they pulled up for the night. She heard the horse as it cantered toward her. It skidded to a stop and snorted softly. Opening her lids a crack, she peered up at Simon. “Did you forget me?”
“You appear well enough, Archer,” Simon said.
“’Tis been two days hence the time you abandoned me.”
“Best to keep you hidden for a time.”
Cramped and dirty, Terrwyn grew impatient. “I am an archer and should be with the archers.”
“Walk with me.” Simon dismounted and motioned to the driver to hold their position. He waited for Terrwyn to clamber out of the wagon bed.
As their distance from the wagons grew, the permanent frown slid from Simon’s visage. “Tell me, Archer, would you have rather been found out early on? Sent packing to your little village by Abergavenny?”
At Terrwyn’s little gasp, he smiled. “Aye, we had visitors from your village. Bran and Maffew joined us earlier in the day, spewing threats of bringing Owain and his band of men down on our heads. Swore Dafydd ap Hugh’s daughter rode with us. Had William not been beholden to their mother’s help for my ailing innards, he might have sent them without their heads, a note pinned to their blankets to come and be bested.”
Visions of her family and friends lying in a pool of their own blood nearly brought her to her knees. She gripped Simon’s sleeve to keep from hitting the ground.
“Steady, Archer. Their heads are still attached. Your village still stands. William has been calmed. But I know my brother. His travels to Wales have broken open the old wound of a painful memory. He’ll not want another Welsh woman sneaking her way into his command.”
“Nay! You did swear to champion me.”
“That was before all this. I thought he was over her. But when I see his face, I know it pains him when he thinks of the woman who stole his child.”
“He lost a child? A little boy?”
“Nay, a girl no bigger than a mite. When the Welsh bitch stole his child, she well as tore William’s heart right out. Said she could no longer stomach her life in England.” Simon’s meaty hand patted her shoulder. “’Tis why I’ll only help you get as far as you can from your home, but I will not play my brother false any longer. He deals with lies and deceit from all sides. Sir James has yet to return from his secret affairs. And now—” Simon paused, roughly shoving his fingers through his hair. “Now we’re going to have to misplace the archer that Henry has already heard all about.”
Terrwyn hated seeing the pain reach his own sad eyes. Yet if she held any chance of finding Drem, she had to reach Southampton before they set sail for France. Unwanted thoughts of James careened around her head. She struggled to focus on what Simon was saying. The worry in his voice brought her back to hear his concern.
“We’ve a fine mess, you and I. William will be enraged when I cannot bring him his archer. You’re going to have to stay hid for a while longer. Least until I figure out what to do with you.”
Chapter Eleven
Terrwyn and Simon approached the encampment in silence, each lost in their thoughts. Simon stopped her outside the ring of trees. “’Tis best if we are not seen together.”
“If that is what you wish.”
“Remember. Do not draw attention to yourself. William is already angry that I cannot seem to locate you.” Simon took his leave as soon as she acknowledged his orders.
Her attention was quickly turned from Simon when shouts rang out. Recognizing Gilbert’s voice, Terrwyn raced over and skidded to a halt. Simon’s words of caution echoed in her ears before she silenced them. Men of various shapes crowded Cook against his wagon.
Edgar Poole led the charge, stirring the soldiers with his slurs against the people of Wales. He swayed on his feet and swung at the crowd with his flagon.
“Weak-bellied women, the whole lot of ’em. Thieves. That’s what they are. They’ll steal us blind. Take the food from our mouths. The coin from our families.”
Their tempers rising, the soldiers pushed and shoved at each other. Indignant from the shouted lies, the Welshmen returned shove for shove against the throng of men. Caught in the chaos, Gilbert yelped when he hit the side of Cook’s wagon.
“We might have to follow the commander’s orders to herd them up for battle. But I for one do not wish to share my meal with them,” Edgar said. “Who is with me?”
“You’ll take your hide elsewhere.” Cook shook the thick-handled ladle at the men surrounding him. “I won’t serve any of you until you cool off and use your heads. You’re even bigger fools if you follow this one’s lead.”
Edgar lunged toward the wagon, wielding his dagger close to the old man’s face. “I ought to slice open yer throat for interfering in my business.”
Cook twisted to push the young Gilbert out of the way. The tip of the blade cut through the cook’s leather jerkin. Grimacing, he fell to his knees.
“Devil take you,” Gilbert yelled.
Edgar turned and caught the young boy before he could crawl under the wagon. “No ye don’t, ye little bastard. ’Tis time I taught ye some manners.”
Terrwyn’s breath caught at the sight of the child in Edgar’s grasp. The memory of her inability to save her brother rushed back. Frustration bled into rage as she pushed past the men
. She climbed to the top of the highest mound of supplies and stood with her legs braced, her bow stretched tight. Remembering her promise to keep herself out of sight, she whispered an apology to Simon and let the arrow loose.
With a yelp of surprise, Edgar turned his glare toward Terrwyn. “Damned fool, I’ll kill ye where ye stand.”
“You had your warning. Let the child go.”
The soldiers nearest to Edgar backed away and left Terrwyn an easy shot. Tempted, she ignored the little voice that urged her to let him have the taste of iron between his teeth. Instead, she let the arrow fly and watched it burrow into the dirt beside his boot.
Edgar spat on the ground in response, earning a half-hearted chuckle from his cohorts.
A second arrow impaled its head between Edgar’s feet.
With a startled curse, he pressed the blade into Gilbert’s skin until a patch of red began to trickle.
Terrwyn yanked the knife from her belt, threw it and leapt from her high advantage, letting her weight fall on top of Edgar. Gilbert rolled free from his grasp.
Edgar ripped out the dagger from his thigh and tossed Terrwyn off his back. Smelling blood, the men cheered as she struggled to rise.
Edgar advanced, knocking her to the ground again. Gripping her by the nape of her neck, he pulled her to her knees. “I told ye I’d make ye pay,” he ground out softly. “Skirts or no skirts, it makes me no never mind.”
As she rose, Terrwyn grabbed a handful of loose dirt and threw it into Edgar’s eyes. Her fists locked together, she swung her arms with all her might and bashed him against his jaw. He tumbled to the ground.
“Arch-er! Arch-er!” The chant rang through the clearing.
Terrwyn shook the cobwebs from her head. Every bone aching, she bent to retrieve her blade and arrows.
Silence.
Then the thunder of hoofs. A shout, crystal clear.
Zeus and James barreled through the tree line. The destrier charged past as James launched himself from its back. He caught Edgar’s arm with the heel of his boot. Stunned once more, the archers and longbowmen stood back as they watched their lead bowman fall by the hand of one of their own.
Terrwyn’s knees slowly folded to the ground. The rage began to clear from her head. Keeping the brim of her cap low, she looked up and tried to focus on the one face she had been searching for.
James knelt beside her. “You’ve much to answer for, soldier. As it is, we are already short of good men. Make peace or you’ll find yourself sent packing.”
Terrwyn touched his jaw. She could not keep the smile from lighting up her face. There was something about this man that would not allow her hatred to reside. “Yell all you want, English. But please do so after I’ve had some time to catch my breath.”
James leaned in closer. He tipped her chin, his gaze peeling away the dirt. The weight of the heavy braid, hidden underneath her cap, slowly began to work its way out. He paused as Terrwyn stayed his hand with a slight shake of her head. Understanding washed over his face. Without a word, he tucked in the tendrils before they could escape further and yanked the cap in place.
Terrwyn gasped from the sudden movement. Her smile wobbled before she compressed her lips firmly together.
James pulled back, searching her face. “What have you got yourself into?”
“Give way! The boy needs care.” After barking out orders to disperse, James lifted Terrwyn into his arms.
“Wait. My bow and quiver—”
“Be still,” he whispered into her ear. “Keep your head down. Your face hidden.”
The burden nestled securely in his arms, he turned and found his path blocked.
“He hurt that bad that you need to carry him?” William’s young brother said.
“Simon, is it? Be a good lad and move aside.” James stepped closer, motioning allowance for passage. Given the way Simon planted his feet, he could only surmise the young fool intended to make himself a barrier. Impatience growing, he shifted his hold. With Terrwyn’s face pressed into the crook of his neck, he tamped down the need to shout. “Out of my way, young puppy.”
A muffled groan erupted from the baggage in his arms.
“Here,” Simon said. “I’ll take the ruffian.”
James brushed the ham-sized appendage with a glance. “Look to Edgar Poole. See he receives the care he deserves.”
Relieved to see Simon’s attention cast in the bowman’s direction, James moved to shove past and found the path still blocked.
“The men will tend his wound.” A fleeting look of concern marred Simon’s face while he scratched the back of his neck. “Seeing as Poole injured Cook, the men won’t stitch him together none too gently.” He paused before adding wistfully, “I’d wager you’d want to question everyone involved.”
“Aye,” James snapped. “Sir William will want a full report. Start with Edgar Poole.”
Simon nodded in hopeful agreement. “Might as well take that one off your hands while I’m at it.”
The desire to reach his tent growing, James could not keep the impatience from his voice. “Nay, I shall take this nuisance under my own care.” He gave his captive’s collar a warning shake, emphasizing his resolve. “I’ve a desire to keep him in my custody.”
“No need to mess yourself with the likes of this one,” Simon said. “’Tis certain, the sooner he is out of your sights the better.”
James pulled his tired shoulders square. “I intend to question the miscreant myself.”
Despite the tightening around his eyes, Simon smiled affably. “Give the bastard a good thrashing. You’ll get your answers, sure enough.”
James felt Terrwyn flinch, felt the tension building in her body. She was finally frightened. God forgive him, he was damn glad of it. Hell and damnation, did she not understand the predicament she placed herself? Once the men learned from Edgar that she was indeed a female, it would be open season on her virginity.
Hell’s bones! The wench had some harebrained notion to wiggle free. James tightened his grip to keep her from escaping. He was sorely tempted to turn her over to Simon. The salivating lummox was eager to get his hands on the bit of baggage. It would serve her well to scare the devil out of her.
As if reading his mind, Simon reached out to pry the small arm that had crept around James’s neck. “I’d be proud to lay a hand to his hide, myself.”
All thoughts of vindication evaporated as James realized that Simon intended to physically remove Terrwyn from his arms. He took half a step back and growled proprietarily over the top of her head. “I’ve given you orders, Simon. I would hate to recount your insubordination to Sir William.”
A tightening around Simon’s mouth was the only telltale sign of his ire. He sidestepped slowly from the path, sweeping his arms wide for James to pass without further delay. “Sir James—”
James turned to see the flash of anger flush Simon’s cheeks.
“A full report will be available within the hour,” Simon said. “Delivered to you, myself.”
James caught Simon’s gaze and held it. “I would expect nothing less.” Pushing past, he strode down the rough-cut path.
Once certain they were far enough away for their voices not to carry, James asked, “Are your injuries grave?”
Terrwyn snorted a half chuckle. “Nary a scratch.”
Relief warred with irritation as James marched silently through the glen. His anger grew with each step.
Terrwyn lift her face from his shoulder and whispered, “Let me down.”
“Silence!” James said. “Not a word until I give you leave.”
“I cannot breathe!”
“Can you not listen?” he hissed.
“Listen I have, as I heard your threats.”
“Then you understand you must obey what I tell you.”
“Or you will beat me?” Terrwyn strained against his hand, turning her head so that only a portion of her face remained exposed to his neck. Her lips moved against the strong column of muscle
as she spoke. “Nay, I think not. I do not recall asking you to direct my actions.”
“Aye, one always wishes a thrashing to gain support.” His voice crackled with dry humor.
“I had my position with the men well in hand.”
James’s hand rested over the crown of her head, dragging the cap down over the escaping tendrils. “Interesting choice of words, Terrwyn. You have no understanding of a man’s hunger for a woman when he has been without for so long. For some, any woman will suffice.”
“Hmph,” she snorted. “Only a baseborn bastard would act on that urge.”
“Foolish girl! When need awakens, it matters not on what side of the blanket he’s born. A man of royalty or a man of the stews, both are able and willing to tip back the heels of an unsuspecting wench.” He lowered his arms until her hip brushed against his own need. “Think you it requires skill to arouse a man? When the merest contact with your body sends me to ache for release?”
“Cur dog! You’ll let me down or soon discover your need aching more than you counted on.” Terrwyn kicked out her feet. Arching her back against his arm, she bucked and squirmed until both she and James were left gasping for breath.
James set her down. Her arm held firmly to his side, he dragged her past a felled tree and stopped behind the foliage of a wild bramble. Light flickered through the ragged green leaves of the secluded glen. Ignoring her protests, he pressed his forehead to hers. His mouth remained dangerously close to those pearly white teeth. “What’s wrong, little one? Do you worry that I cannot control my need? Or do you feel it as well?”
“Think you that I would throw myself at your feet?”
“If you’ve a mind to. Although I can think of better places for you than at my feet.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Her mouth opened and snapped shut. When she took in a deep breath, he knew she was preparing to rip apart the glen with a scream. He yanked her close to his chest, knocking the air from her lungs. He covered her mouth, his lips pressed to hers. Dodging her teeth, he explored the taste of sweet Terrwyn. Silken strands loosed from her braid wrapped around his wrists, entrapping him. The heat of her breasts ignited his skin.